Resident Evil: Ashes
by ChaosWolf021
Summary: A carrier has brought the dreaded tvirus to the city of Riverton. Soon its streets are filled with the undead as multiple factions fight their way through the city to claim their stake, and possibly determine the future of humanity.
1. Contamination

**_Author's Note:_** This is my own sequel of sorts to the events in Raccoon City. I do not own Resident Evil and while this is in no sense cannon, I will try to keep it so that the story fits well with the rest of the series. Enjoy

**Rated M for strong violence, strong language, and sexuality**

**

* * *

**

**Resident Evil: Ashes**

_Robert K. Anderson_

"The living are stretched bows, whose purpose is death" -Heraclitus

* * *

**Interval 01: Contamination**

Matthew Riley ran as hard as his legs would carry him, tearing through the ruined streets of Raccoon city. Everywhere he looked he saw corpses, ruined cars, buildings with fire flaring out the windows, and the undead. The zombies were everywhere, their bloodied hands reaching out for Matthew's still warm flesh.

Matthew could only scream as he ran into an alley to try and escape the zombies. He saw a police officer standing just ahead of him, pistol clutched in a fist held by his side.

"Officer, help, the things are right behind me," Matthew cried out, coming up right behind the cop.

The officer turned, revealing the stomach that had been torn open, spilling intestines in greasy loops across the thighs of his uniform. A horrified expression came across Matthew's face. He struggled to stop from throwing up, but failed, spewing his last meal all across the zombie cop standing in front of him.

The creature paid no head to the vomit now staining its uniform along with its own blood. Its hands opened, dropping the pistol to the ground, and grabbed Matthew's shoulders. Matthew seemed unable to move, though he knew he had to run.

He screamed out as he felt the teeth of the monster tear into the meat of his shoulder. He could feel his blood gushing from the wound, and he instinctively dropped to the ground. The zombie's jaws tore a chunk of flesh from the shoulder, causing Matthew to bleed heavily.

As he fell to the ground, he saw the pistol laying just within reach. He grabbed it and spun onto his back as the zombie was lowering itself to feast on this fresh meal lying before it. Matthew didn't know much about weaponry, but he knew enough to squeeze the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the valley, but the bullet had hit its mark, striking the zombie in the right side of the forehead. Blood ran from the wound and the mouth as the creature fell to the ground, truly dead. Its head struck the concrete hard enough that Matthew could hear a cracking sound upon impact.

He looked down the alley and saw more of the zombie approaching, moaning for his flesh.

* * *

Matthew sat straight up in his bed, the covers falling off his shirtless form. Cold sweat glistened on his skin as his chest heaved with exertion. The dreams had never stopped, ever since he had escaped Raccoon by slipping through the forest and the Arklay mountains.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, before looking down at his shoulder. Ten years had passed since Raccoon city was destroyed, and the mark was still there. The ragged scar he had never shown anyone before. What would he tell them, a zombie bit him in the shoulder before Raccoon city had been wiped off the face of the planet? The story was so outrageous that sometimes Matthew thought that perhaps he had dreamed all of the events that haunted his dreams. That was until he looked down at the pale scars over his shoulder of course.

Matthew let out a long sigh and looked over at the clock beside his bed. The red digital numbers read 3:00 am. He didn't have to be up for another four hours, and he didn't have to be at the hospital until eight.

Matthew placed his hands on his forehead and leaned back in his bed. As the skin of his back came into contact with the sheets covering his mattress he noted with some disgust that the sheets were damp with his own sweat.

The mechanic closed his eyes, and slowly he fell back to sleep. Hopefully in the short span that he was going to get, he wouldn't dream.

* * *

"…_mayor greeted Richard Carmichael in front of city hall. The visiting Canadian Ambassador…_" a news anchor on the radio had been trying to report just before Kyle Hamilton's hand slammed down on the snooze button, cutting the monotonic voice that had interrupted his sleep.

"I don't wanna get up," he whined into the soft goose down pillow.

"Aww baby," his wife Jessica joked beside him, rolling over onto her side to look at him, the white covers pulled up just enough to cover her body.

Kyle pulled his face from the pillow to look over at the woman he loved. Her long, smooth strawberry blond hair fell around her face like a frame, bringing out the cheery light of her forest green eyes. Her full, almost pouting lips were turned upwards in a bright smile.

"Baby?" Kyle asked, propping himself up on an elbow, raising one eyebrow slightly.

"Mhmm," Jessica sounded between closed lips, her face still glowing with her smile, which seemed to grow a little bigger.

Kyle immediately attacked, his fingers finding the bare skin of her stomach and beginning to tickly her mercilessly. She shrieked and began to let out uncontrollable fits of laughter, her legs kicking out, throwing the covers of the bed into disarray.

"Baby?" Kyle asked, now smiling himself.

Jessica could barely talk through her laughter, her hands vainly trying to push Kyle's away. Then something clicked in her mind. She grabbed her pillow and hit him across the head. He stopped tickling her and rebounded. The pillow hit him in the face and dropped into his lap.

"Yes… baby," she said, huffing between deep breaths.

"Okay you win," Kyle said with a small chuckle looking down at his pillow. The very one in which he had been taking solace from the waking world, and the very one which had defeated him, once again, in the tickle war.

He looked up to see his wife crawling towards him across the bed on all fours like a cat, a sexy smile she reserved only from him spreading across her face. Kyle felt all his love for this woman rush through his veins and every fibre of his mind, even as her delicate hand pressed against his chest and pushed him slowly back so that his head rested near the foot of the bed. She climbed slowly on top of him, laying herself atop him.

Their heat swirled through their skin, even as their lips gently came together in a tender and loving kiss. Kyle's arms encircled around his wife, holding her body close.

"Should have shaved hun," Jessica said, running a hand down Kyle's unshaven cheek, feeling the growing stubble.

"Yeah, I know… oh well. Hopefully it'll be a slow day, I'll see you tonight hun," Kyle said, kissing her good bye before heading out the door. The warm morning sun light the subdivision he lived on, and the summer air was full of children's laughter.

"Surprised so many are out this early," Kyle thought to himself as he followed the small walkway to the driveway where his blue Honda was parked. A black mug, with Pittsburg Steelers written across it in gold lettering over top of their symbol, was clutched in his hand filled nearly to the top with coffee, with a dab of Irish cream and a hint of Bailey's, just as he always took it.

As he opened his door and got inside his car Kyle thought to himself: 'I bet cops are the only guys who hope they have a slow day'. He pondered this a moment before starting up his car.

* * *

Matthew looked up at the front doors that led into the lobby of Riverton General Hospital. He let out a sigh as he started up the steps, a noticeable limp in his walk.

As he stepped into the lobby Matthew let his gaze shift across the room, taking in the nurses, the secretaries, the patients waiting for treatment, and family waiting for the good or bad news. Matthew spotted an older man in a brown coat reading the Riverton Times. There was a picture on the front page of the president's daughter, Ashley, with an accompanying headline reading "**Presidents Daughter Rescued**".

Matthew nodded; it was good to know that she was back safe and sound but he wasn't entirely interested in the full story. It more than likely wasn't that exciting.

Matthew walked up to the receptionist's desk, a weary smile on his aged face.

"Matthew Riley, here to see Dr. Kirkpatrick about my pre-operation appointment," he said politely.

"Okay just a second sir," the receptionist said, taping on the keys of her computer, fishing through gigabytes of information to find one man and his appointment.

"Alright, he's expecting you, go on ahead," she said with a smile.

* * *

Kyle sat in his cruiser on the side of one of the downtown streets watching pedestrians walk past and cars drive to wherever their passengers were off to. Kyle sighed, it was a slow day, and that was a good thing, but damn was he bored.

He really doubted anything would happen with the visiting ambassador in town. Not only was the Riverton Police Department out in full force, the ambassador had a few RCMP cruisers with well trained officers within.

Slow day, he couldn't wait to get back home to Jessica.

Matthew drained his beer, feeling the refreshing liquid run down his throat, slowly washing away his memories. There were others around him, for the most part enjoying themselves. There was a couple pressed against each other at one of the tables, occasionally sharing a deep kiss between drinks. There were some guys wearing leather football jackets from the local university drinking heavily and shouting out in merriment.

Matthew sighed, wishing he was able to just let go of all worries, maybe find a woman to spend just a night with. Just one night; he hadn't had a woman's company since Raccoon City, and would like to forget his journey through hell, for just one night.

He sighed taking another chug of beer. It was too much to ask for.

An ice cube hit him in the side of the head. Matthew turned around to see one of the university students staring at him, wearing a shit eating grin across his ugly mug.

"Cheer up ya old fart," he said with a laugh, and his friends quickly joined in.

"Fuck you and fuck off asshole," Matthew shot back with a glare.

The football players were taken back by the outburst, and the one who had thrown the ice cube stepped forward. Matthew's only warning of the incoming punch was the bartender's body tensing up for the imminent fight.

Matthew grabbed his bottle and turned on his stool. His bottle smashed across the kid's jaw, shattering on the impact. The kid stumbled out of his punch, blood running from his mouth as a broken tooth fell to the floor.

His friends immediately reacted by running over to help their friend, one of them punching Matthew square in the face. The mechanic felt his nose break, could feel the blood running from the wound, but he thrust out with his broken beer bottle, slashing the kid's forearm.

The kid recoiled grabbing the bleeding wound and Matthew tackled him. They crashed to the ground and Matthew began to pound his fist into the kids face. He could feel and see his own blood dripping from his nose onto the kid's face, but he was beyond caring.

He felt strong hands grab him and throw him off of the mauled kid on the floor, moaning in pain, hands grabbing his face. Matthew landed with his back against the bar, ass on the floor. He looked up to see on of the kids ready to start pummeling him.

"Stop" came the bartender's voice, followed by the cocking of a shotgun.

The kids backed away, and someone came by the help Matthew up. Once on his feet Matthew turned to his helper.

"Thanks," he found himself saying a pretty blonde woman. She wore a smile on her face, her eyes a sparkling blue.

"Not a problem. Let me take you home, you look like hell," the woman said, whipping a kerchief beneath Matthew's nose to remove the blood.

The kids had already left scared away by the shotgun, and seeing the woman with Matthew the bartender put the gun away after unloading it.

"Sure," Matthew said almost in a stammer, his dark thoughts from earlier on lifting from the clouds of his mind.

* * *

Kyle wandered into his house, kicking off his shoes and running a hand through his hair before letting out a long yawn. He tilted his head at the soft music playing, running through the walls of his home.

"Have you eaten honey?" Jessica's voice called out.

"Yeah I did," Kyle said walking into the bedroom, where he found his wife in bed, blankets pulled up to her waist, revealing her naked top half.

Around the room candles burned, sending soft light into the dark crevices and erotic shadows across the bed.

"Good, cause I've got something better for you," she said, beckoning him over with a single finger.

"Oh its going to be a good night," Kyle muttered to himself.

* * *

Matthew wasn't sure how it happened, the last hour was a blur to him, but he now found himself in his bed, looking down at the glistening body of a beautiful woman as he gently thrust within her.

Her hands held him close as they expressed their lust, their bodies coated in sweat. Their kissing was fast and fiery, tongues dancing as one as their bodies melded.

It didn't last very long, it had been so long for Matthew, and soon he grunted as his climax struck, and he laid himself on the warm body of Angela, the woman he had met at the bar.

In the back of his mind he scolded himself for not wearing a condom, but the main part of his consciousness was more interested in Angela's actions as she started to tease his body for more sex.

It was the first night in ten years that Matthew didn't worry about the undead.

* * *

Ricky groaned as he stumbled into his dorm room. His buddies helped him to the bed.

"That old fuck just beat the living shit out of you, of course you're going to have a headache," Tom told him.

They had had to drop Bill off at the hospital, the beer bottle had done some good damage to his jaw and mouth. But Ricky, his face was just going to be sore for awhile.

"No guys… it's… it's different. I've been beaten up before, never had a headache like this before," he said, laying down on his bed. His vision was swimming he couldn't concentrate on anything. He didn't know what was happening to him.

Did that old fuck have some kind of disease? Did some of his blood get inside him somehow? The troubling thoughts followed Ricky into a tormented sleep as his buddies left him.

* * *

In the darkness of night Angela stumbled to Matthew's bathroom. He was fast asleep but she was feeling sick. She opened his toilet and threw up, she was almost thankful for the distorted vision so that she wouldn't have to see the mess that splashed into the water, but that didn't stop her from smelling it.

Trembling Angela reached up and pulled the flusher on the toilet, even as a headache pounded within her skull. What the hell was wrong with her?


	2. Infection Spreads

**Interval 02: Infection Spreads

* * *

**

"Have you seen Ricky lately?" Danni asked, holding a textbook under her arm.

"No. Why? Is something up?" Rachel asked walking beside her friend towards their next class.

"Yeah. Since that stupid fight he got into a few nights ago he's been getting worse and worse. He went to the hospital, and they took some blood to do some tests. They're not sure what's wrong with him," Danni said, running a hand through her hair.

Rachel shot her a nervous glance. She had heard about Ricky. He wasn't able to see very well anymore, his concentration was shot because of the horrible headaches he'd been getting, and his skin pale and clammy. Poor Danni; her boyfriend was a wreck right now.

"Do we know who the guy was, and if he had anything?" Rachel asked.

"No, we have no idea who he was or if he had anything," Danni said in an almost defeated tone.

"Hey cheer up girl. I'm sure it's nothing too bad, and probably has nothing to do with that guy. Ricky will get better soon enough," Rachel said, rubbing Danni's shoulder, a warm smile spreading across her face. She didn't entirely believe her own words, but that wasn't important. She needed to cheer Danni up somehow.

"I suppose…" the other girl said, her tone letting Rachel know that she didn't really believe it either.

"We'll worry about it later," Rachel said as she pushed the door open to her class, Danni stepping in behind her, lifting her head. If she didn't do well her parents would be pissed. That was more sure than Ricky's state.

But she still couldn't shake the fear from her mind.

* * *

Matthew was alone again. The woman, Angela, who had come home with him a few nights before had left in the middle of the night. She had left no note, no explanation. Only her purse and jacket, inexplicably wandering off without them.

Matthew had kept them in his kitchen in case she came back, simply leaving them on his table. He let out a long sigh and stood. Clad in his grease stained uniform, Matthew left his house, locking the front door behind him.

With his slight limp he walked to his car, time for another day at work, the only constant in his life besides the nightmares.

* * *

"Mr. Prescott, we were told that Angela Freeworth frequented this bar and was here a few nights ago. Would you be able to tell us anything?" Kyle asked.

The bartender of The Royal Oak was absently washing a glass, brown eyes settled calmly beneath bushy gray eyebrows seemed lost in thought as they took in the picture that Kyle was showing him.

"Yeah, I remember her all right. A few nights ago some young kids got in a fight with one of my regulars. After the fight she helped to clean him up and went home with him. Haven't seen either since," Mr. Prescott explained in a warm, friendly tone.

"Matthew Riley? Can you tell me anything about him," Kyle asked happy that the bartender was cooperative. Most of the seedier establishments the bartenders would run or keep their mouths shut upon seeing the uniform.

"Yeah, he's a mechanic at the garage over on King street. Pretty depressed guy, but I can't see him hurting anyone… except those kids," Prescott said, setting a clean glass down on the bar.

"Thank you very much for your help sir," Kyle said as he and his partner John Brannon left the bar.

As they climbed inside their cruiser John looked over his notes.

"What do you think?" John asked looking over his notes from the brief conversation with the bartender.

"I think that we need to stop by that garage and have a talk with Mr. Riley. Whatever the bartender told us, this Matthew guy isn't someone I've dealt with before, so I want to get this done quickly," Kyle said.

"All right. Let's get it done then," John said as Kyle started the cruiser up.

He punched Matthew Riley's name into the small computer in the cruiser, getting all the information that was on the man's records. Which wasn't much.

"Damn," John muttered to himself as the cruiser sped through the streets.

* * *

The smell of oil and grease filled Matthew's nostrils as he examined the underbelly of an old '97 Chevy. The sound of classic rock drifted through the garage from the old radio that Matthew had brought in a few years back.

It was never turned up very loud, just enough to give the garage a hard working vibe. The music was often drowned out by the tools the mechanics used.

"Hey Matt!" came a voice from across the garage; Jim Ferguson, one of the other mechanics who worked in the garage.

Matthew rolled out from under the car, wiping his hands on an already filthy rag. He saw Jim leading two police officers towards him. Matthew frowned as he stood up.

"The cops said they wanted to speak with you," Jim said before turning and walking off without waiting for a reply from Matthew. Some of the mechanics here had dirt in their past, and everyone else tended to ignore it. Work here was a sanctuary for nearly everyone. That was why Matthew had fit in so well.

"Can I help you officers?" Matthew asked, again wiping his hands on the rag, this time though it was more out of nervousness than any desire to clean the grime from his skin.

"We've been told that you went home with a Ms. Angela Freeworth a few nights back," the taller officer said. Matthew quickly glanced him over, short brown hair, blue eyes, handsome features, quite thin though. Matthew's found the nametag on his chest; Hamilton it read.

"That's true officer, why do you ask?" Matthew asked, worry gnawing at his guts.

"Because you're the last person to have seen her. She's been missing since Tuesday night, when you took her home," the shorter officer said, Ferguson emblazoned on his nametag.

Matthew's world stopped for a few moments. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't even notice the suspicion growing in the two officers' expressions.

"I… I did take her home, but she… she left in the middle of the night. I woke up and she was just… gone. Left behind her purse and jacket, just forgot about them I guess. I have them back at my house," Matthew stammered, fear crawling up his spine like a spider.

"Sir, would we be able to look through your house. You're the only lead we have," Hamilton asked.

"Yeah… yeah go ahead," Matt replied, mind spinning in circles, confusion, fear, doubt all jumbled in with each other. Nothing was clear to him at that moment.

The officers watched him for a moment, judging his reaction. Out of instinct and out of experience with criminals of all natures they knew that Matthew Riley was innocent of any crimes, let alone any against Ms. Freeworth.

"Sorry to have bothered you Mr. Riley, have a good evening," the officers said, turning on their heels and promptly leaving the garage.

They were still going to search Mr. Riley's home but they doubted they would turn anything up. Still, he was their only lead.

* * *

With his shift done Matthew jumped behind the wheel of his car, intent of getting home, or maybe the bar. He wasn't sure yet.

"Fuck!" he yelled to himself, realizing he forgot to tell the cops about the jacket and purse left behind in his home. That would make him look suspicious, more so than he already did. He was such an idiot some times.

The city flashed past him, the glare of street lights and the headlights of other cars clashing across his windshield. Darkness settled over the buildings as the sun drifted beneath the horizon.

He looked over into one of the alleys, and saw a familiar figure. With a frown Matthew pulled the car over as the person disappeared deeper into the darkness of the alley.

Climbing out of his car and locking the doors out of instinct Matthew started into the alley. He wasn't even entirely sure why, he just was. Curiosity mostly, he was sure he had known the figure that had been illuminated by his headlights for just a brief second.

As he walked into the alley he felt something slick and sticky beneath his shoes. He looked down, but was unable to make anything specific out in the darkness. He ignored it for now as he noticed a light down the alley. It looked like a flashlight pointed towards a graffiti covered wall.

With the glaring light taking any chance of good night vision from his eyes, Matt picked the flashlight up. He directed it first back towards the alley entrance.

His eyes went wide. The puddle of crimson was immediately recognizable. Matthew turned, flicking the beam of light down the alley. A homeless man was laying in the middle of the alley, his throat a bloody mess of torn flesh and bubbling blood. Standing above him, clad in only the dress she had worn a few nights ago, was the missing Angela Freeworth.

"Oh Christ, I've got to be dreaming," Matt said to himself as memories flashed through his mind of Raccoon city.

Angela was standing before him, her flesh starting to rot, blood dripping from pale lips. Her clouded milk white eyes stared at him like a crocodile stares at its next meal. She let out a strangled moan, empty of any soul or humanity, and blood flew from her mouth like spittle.

Matthew started to back away as Angela approached him, he started to look around, looking for anything to defend himself with. His eyes settled on a metal pipe laying on the ground. He quickly bent and picked it up.

When he faced Angela again she was lunging for her meal. Matthew let out a scream of fear and rage as he swung the pipe before him. The metal caught on the side of her jaw. There was a loud crack as bones broke and skin split. The undead woman tumbled to the ground, ignoring the blood running from her cheek. She looked up at Matthew and started to crawl across the ground towards him.

"Not again!" Matthew screamed as he brought the pipe down on her head, again and again.

The sound of her skull cracking open was soon replaced by a wet thud as her brains were hammered into the ground.

Long past the time her head was unrecognizable Matthew dropped the pipe and stumbled backwards. He felt it coming up his throat, and couldn't even get himself ready, and so his vomit spewed out and stained the front of his shirt. The horrid stench of the alley was enough for him to puke again, this time on the ground.

As he collected his wits about him, Matthew slowly started to realize that he was not dreaming, that it was happening again. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and as if in a drunken state stumbled out of the alley, covered in blood and vomit. It took five minutes for him to unlock his car, and when he finally did he pulled the door open and fell inside.

With tears of fear running from his eyes he somehow managed to get the keys inside the ignition. With the car started Matthew looked back at the entrance to the alley, and saw another figure emerging from the shadows.

Consumed by fear, haunted by the ghosts of his past, Matthew slammed on the gas. The car jerked forward, narrowly missing another driver who showed their anger by slamming their fist down on the horn.

Matt didn't care, he had to escape before it got worse. He wasn't paying attention as his car went through an intersection. The driver that hit him and sent him into darkness hadn't been expecting someone to go flying through a red light.

* * *

"Dr. Chamberlain!" a nurse yelled down the hall.

The doctor turned to face the nurse, panic across her face. She was standing in the doorway for Ricky Thomas, admitted into the hospital for severe nausea, headaches, stomach problems, and other troubling symptoms.

"What is it?" the doctor asked of the nurse.

"The patient's vitals have flat lined!" she exclaimed, and Dr. Chamberlain broke into a run, trying to get to the patient's room as quickly as possible. Just before he reached the door though, a hand reached out and grabbed the nurse's shoulder and pulled her into the room. She let out a scream of fear the quickly turned into one of pain.

Chamberlain turned into the room, and saw young Ricky Thomas tearing into the meat of the nurse's shoulder. Blood ran down her chest, staining her uniform. As the man saw the doctor he pushed his victim away, leaving her to bleed on the floor. He started walking towards the doctor who slowly backed away.

"Okay Ricky, I need you to stay calm," Chamberlain said.

The patient's response was a loud wail, utterly devoid of sense or humanity.

Panic overtook the doctor. He turned and tried to flee out into the hall, but the creature that had once been Ricky Thomas tackled him and started tearing into the meat of his calves.


	3. Epidemic

**Interval 03: Epidemic**

The flickering of the monitor lit the solitary figure, sitting within the darkness of his office, for a mere second at a time. One of his legs was leisurely crossed over the over, elbows resting on the armrests of his chair, fingers forming a steeple just under his chin. His blonde hair was perfectly combed, but the dark sunglasses resting on his nose was not enough to conceal the ambition and hunger for power within his eyes.

Eyes that currently watched the news from a small city in the Northern United States. Not too far from Raccoon actually.

"_There is still no explanation for the recent rash of violence that has plagued the city over the past few days. The National Guard is already being sent in to quarantine the city. Citizens are told not to leave the city boundaries," _the Riverton reporter said. There was an edge to her voice, fear, Albert Wesker could recognize that emotion anywhere.

A small smile crossed the man's face, though it didn't give him a friendly look, instead making him seem more like a wolf ready for the kill.

The events in Riverton could be of importance to him, and to the underground remnants of Umbrella.

Wesker needed only a brief second to figure out who the best man was for the job. His hand strayed to the armrest of his chair, where various buttons were arrayed for various tasks. His fingers found the communication keys.

Whatever secrets lie hidden within Riverton, he would discover them soon enough.

* * *

Col. James Henderson sat behind his oaken desk within the relative solitude of his office. A black inked pen scribbled across the various forms that found their way into his responsibility.

The air force's responsibility for the quarantine of Riverton had largely fallen upon him. There was way too much paperwork bullshit involved in simply keeping aircraft out of the infected area.

The aging and tired man looked up when he heard his office door open. A man stood there wearing the standard navy uniform. His hair was close cropped blonde, with cold blue eyes that seemed to pierce James to the core of his soul. He had never felt this way under one of his subordinates before.

Adding to his feeling of unease, was that James did not recognize the man that was standing before him. He knew everyone who worked in this building that would have any connection to his job. Who was this stranger that now stood before him.

"Col. Henderson?" the man asked, voice controlled and tight, pure professional. It also sent a shiver of fear up the older man's spine. If this man wanted to do anything he could do it before James would be able to call for help.

"That's me. What do you want? Who are you?" the air force officer demanded, trying to get at least a little hold over the situation.

"Who I am is unimportant. What I want is the required paperwork to get into Riverton," the blonde haired stranger replied, no change in his tone. He was a pure professional.

"Into Riverton? I need to know who you are before I can let you in there, it's under quarantine," Henderson responded, this entire visit was about his job, and he took that very seriously. American lives depended on it.

"I'm no one. The paperwork is for SEAL team six. Get it done; my men are ready to move once your done your part. I'll be back within the hour to pick up what I've asked for," and with that the man left, not even waiting for James' response.

James ran a hand through his mostly gray hair as he quickly replayed the exchange through his mind. He knew it would take more than an hour to get the documents legally. He didn't have that long apparently. There was something about his visitor that let him know that if he didn't get his job done, things would not bode well for him at all.

James took a deep breath. He had always done things by the book, but now he was being brought into a cloak and dagger game. It was time to stoop below the radar.

* * *

The sound of sizzling bacon filled the house, accompanied by the humming of Sherri Dallas. Kevin could hear it from his bedroom, where he lifted his body towards the ceiling for his fortieth and final pull-up. He let go of the bar letting his bare feet touch the floor for the first time in a few minutes.

Sweat coated his skin as he walked towards the bathroom, time for a cold shower after his daily, morning time workout. Stepping into the cold water, and feeling the grime washed away from his skin felt like a small piece of heaven. Cleansed for the moment, Kevin stayed beneath the cascade for a few moments enjoying the peace of being at home. He'd been away for too long, living in the dirt of Afghanistan for nine months. Such was the life of a soldier.

Kevin closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face, and the memories flashed back at him.

* * *

"_Ready Sarge," came the nearly silent voice of Cpl. Chris Payne over the personal radios they carried._

_The six man team was positioned around a house in a small Afghani village in the middle of the night. It wasn't a large house, but the man inside was a drug runner, a bomb maker, and a major supporter of the Taliban. Kevin's team had been asked to make him… disappear._

"_Go," Kevin replied, and Chris silently opened the door after carefully checking it for booby traps._

_Four men stormed into the house while Cpl Michael Morello the section C9 gunner and MCpl Hank Richards, the section marksman stayed outside to provide exterior cover. _

_Chris led the remainder through the house, checking every shadow with his silenced C8 carbine. Their night vision allowed only the section to see the green laser emitting from the end of their rifles as they moved silently through the household._

_They found their target sleeping in his bed. Cpl Derek Striker, the section grenadier looked around the rest of the room while MCpl Richard Clark, the section second in command, took a roll of duct tape from his tactical vest, took a large strip off and placed it over the target's mouth._

_He immediately woke up as Chris gave him a quick pat down to make sure he wasn't carrying anything. He started trying to scream, even reaching for the duct tape at his mouth, but Kevin's gloved fist connected with the man's nose. There was an audible snap and blood spurted from his nostrils as he collapsed into unconsciousness._

"_Shut the fuck up," Kevin said, as he and Richard grabbed the man by his armpits and started to drag him back through the house._

_Once outside the section spent an hour dragging the unconscious man into the emptiness of the desert, before stopping in the middle of no where. Kevin pulled his pistol from it's holster on his thigh. He cocked the action back as the men under his command watched without comment. _

_This wasn't the first time they had done this, it wouldn't be the last. The all watched the target rather than Kevin, they knew what had to be done. They were professionals, they were killers from a country that was supposed to be the dove of the world, and here the were performing acts that most from their country would say was nothing better than murder._

_Kevin aimed the pistol at the back of the target's head, and without hesitation squeezed the trigger. A small hole appeared in the back of the man's head, blood leaking out and running through his hair. The sergeant knew that the man wouldn't have too much of a face anymore though, already blood was soaking through the sand around the man's wound._

"_Let's go," Kevin said, holstering his pistol._

_Without a word, the men of the Canadian Shadow Regiment walked into the darkness of the night.

* * *

_

Kevin shook his head, spraying water across the walls of the shower. It was just one memory of many. He tried to push them back whenever he was home, to just be himself and spend time with Sherri, and little Ricky, his new born. He had become a father the week before he had come home. It had hurt him a little, but the joy of simply being a father was more than enough.

Kevin emerged from the shower, grabbing one of the towels from a nearby rack to dry himself off. Through the bathroom's door he heard the phone ringing. Probably a telemarketer or something.

Pulling on his pants Kevin looked up as the bathroom door opened. Sherri stood in the doorway holding the portable phone in her hands. Her expression was a mixture of anger, fear and sadness.

It was that expression alone that told Kevin who was on the other end of that line. Still Kevin took the phone.

"This is Sgt. Dallas," Kevin said immediately.

"_Dallas, this is Maj. Thorton. We have a situation that we need your team to clean up_," came the 'too happy to always be taken seriously' voice over the miles of phone line between him and the base of operations for the CSR.

"Roger that sir," Kevin said, and hung up.

There was a moment of silence as Kevin walked through the house to hang his phone up on its base. He stood there a moment simply staring at the phone; he had been promised three months _at least_ of leave. Now they were recalling that, some major shit must have hit a large fan.

"You're going aren't you?" Sherri quietly said from behind him.

"Yes," Kevin said without even turning around. Despite all his love for his wife, and the pride of being a new father, Kevin was loyal to the nation before anything else. Perhaps that was his downfall, one of many at being a good human being.

It was within a few minutes that Kevin was clad in his military uniform, a black beret usually reserved for tankers sitting on his head, a duffel bag clutched in his left hand. As he walked from the front door to his truck he could feel Sherri watching up from the open doorway, holding Ricky in her arms.

Throwing the duffel bag into the passenger seat and climbing into his truck, Kevin looked up at his wife, noticing the tears slowly running down her cheeks. Kevin couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply started the truck off and pulled out of his driveway, leaving his wife alone in the house once again.

* * *

Kyle Hamilton aimed his 9mm sidearm at one of the creatures' heads. The instant he knew he would get a hit he squeezed the trigger. The back of the monster's head broke open, blood, brains and chips of brain spraying out through the exit wound.

Some of the nurses who were still alive screamed as the thing fell face first, landing with the crunch of a breaking nose.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Kyle yelled at anyone who wasn't already dead, who wasn't dead and trying to eat the living.

Another one of the creatures came around the corner, but Kyle's quick aim had it's brains splattered across the wall behind it and the zombie slowly slumped to the ground.

Zombie… Kyle was still getting used to the word, but he'd seen enough cheesy horror films and played enough video games to recognize them.

More started coming down the hall, their bloodied arms outstretched, mouths hanging open moaning for hot flesh to consume. Blood and drool ran down the front of their clothes. Doctors, nurses, patients, paramedics, none of them were immune to whatever had claimed their lives and turned them into the flesh crazing monstrosities they had become.

Kyle took quick well aimed shots, only missing a handful of times. Every time a bullet struck the wall sending plastic dust floating to the floor he had to wince. Every time there was a crimson spray with small gray chunks he felt elated.

But there were so many, and they were getting so much closer. Kyle fired one last shot, earning himself a solid hit in a zombie's face, but the slide of his pistol didn't move forward.

"Fuck," Kyle said, thumbing the magazine release, ignoring it as it clattered to the floor. He quickly slammed his new and last magazine into place, and let the slide forward.

He immediately fired a shot at a zombie that was lunging for him. It's head rocked back, blood and bone spraying more undead behind it, even as it's body fell to the hospital floor.

There were more just behind it, the hall was filling with blood drenched creatures of the damned.

"Fuck this!" Kyle said turning and running as fast as he could towards the stairwell. He kicked the door open and revealing a zombified doctor feasting on what had once been a quite pretty nurse. Her stomach was pulled open and the doctor had greasy loops of intestine in his mouth and hands. The nurse was somehow still alive, though unable to speak through the intense pain.

The doctor looked up in time to receive Kyle's kick straight in the face. The creature was sent flying back, crashing down the stairwell, cracking it's skull open on a few of the steps.

Kyle quickly put a bullet in the nurse's head out of pity. He didn't look at the damage the single round had done, instead started running down the stairs in an attempt to get the hell out of this hospital.

Tearing through hallways, past undead doctors, secretaries and nurses, the police officer fired off only a few shots to save what precious little ammunition he had. Everything was a blur as adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing him even though he should be a little tired for sprinting, dodging and punching his way through the entire hospital towards the lobby. The entire building had gone to complete hell.

His partner was outside, they had to get to the cruiser, find some semblance of order in the quickly deteriorating city.

* * *

Matthew hid beneath the white sheets of the bed. It had been an effort to even get those sheets over his face, there were so many broken bones in his body. Every movement shot jolts of pain through his skeleton and flesh. So here he sat, terror clouding his brain as the shouts of horror reverberated through the hospital.

Just like in Raccoon city, the building that was once a beacon of hope and health had become a pinnacle of death and blood. So here he cuddled like a lost child, waiting for death to come for him, for there was no escaping hell for a second time. He had fooled the devil once, this time the beast would claim him.


End file.
